


the drowning

by BellumGerere



Series: ruthless calculus [6]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Past Thane Krios/Shepard, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellumGerere/pseuds/BellumGerere
Summary: No matter what goes wrong, Celia Shepard never reacts emotionally, and she certainly doesn'tcry. The aftermath of the attack on the Citadel might change that.
Series: ruthless calculus [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960111
Kudos: 6





	1. kolyat (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a collection of drabbles from outside povs about how my shep deals with thane's death, and it'll be updated as i finish them, but i'm not sure how long that will take since i have a million other projects currently lol. most of the other fics i have planned for this series aren't up yet, so for a little background - they were married, and they mostly did it legally because celia has Issues with her family (i'm not going to go into it super in-depth here since that would take forever, but it will be important). celia is more or less full renegade, not very good at interacting with people or showing Emotions, and so this kind of puts literally everyone who knows her a little on edge, which i thought was worth exploring in more depth/over more time than a one-shot could allow. chapter titles will be the pov the drabble is from!
> 
> this will probably go on for a while, but i'm starting it during trilogy week (run by omegastation on tumblr) and the optional prompt was 'quotes from the series,' hence this particular first chapter. this is one of the only things in a video game that has Ever made me cry. like it wasn't until the scene got to this line that i fucking lost it. also me3 is pretty much the only game that's made me cry and it did it like. five times. the Audacity -bel

Kolyat has never liked Shepard much. The blasé way she’d shot his hostage when they first interacted hadn’t endeared her to him, and things had never gotten better from there, even though he could tell she was making an effort to at least be polite whenever they saw each other. It had occurred to him, more than once over the past few weeks that perhaps he’d been being unfair—she’s the reason he has a job, after all, and despite his misgivings about the relationship, his father had loved her. His reaction to finding out the Reapers had invaded Earth would have been proof enough for Kolyat, but he’s never been certain Shepard feels the same way. It wasn’t as though he’d spent much time around them both.

He watches her knuckles turn white as she grips the railing of the bed where his father’s body lies, and now he knows.

She takes a deep, unsteady breath, her eyes on the view outside, resolutely not looking down even though they’re all reflected in the glass. Maybe she’s looking at herself. He certainly is; it’s been over half a year since he’s seen her, and never before like this—straight from the fight, still in the light clothes she must’ve been wearing under her armor, hair pulled back. Completely devoid of makeup, which means he can see the circles under her eyes and the fact that her lip is bleeding, and her scars are even more disturbingly prominent. The image of Commander Shepard that she displays publicly is a far cry from the woman standing next to him, the woman who had just prayed over his dying father, a sight that he, now somewhat ashamedly, had never thought to see.

“Kolyat?” Her voice is quiet but steady, hoarse but unwavering. She doesn’t look at him. “Why did the last verse say _she?”_

Part of him—most of him, if he was being honest—had hoped she wouldn’t ask, that it had somehow slipped past her. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have, especially now, but he doubts she’ll let him dodge the question. “The prayer was not for him, Commander. He has already asked forgiveness for the lives he has taken. His wish was for you.”

He doesn’t know what he expects to happen. The only time he’s ever seen any real emotion out of her before now was at the reception, and that was—different. Her lips form a silent _oh_ and she releases her grip on the railing, shoving her hands immediately into her pockets, though not before he can see how they shake. When she steps closer to the bed, he steps back, intending to give her a moment, but all she does is lean over and whisper something, too quiet for him to make out. They switch places so seamlessly it’s almost funny, but they’re facing each other, and she hovers uncertainly by the door, and it’s clear that neither of them know what to do. He was expecting this. She would have been. But not now.

Kolyat clears his throat. Maybe soon they’ll figure out how to talk to each other about this, but it clearly won’t be now. “I’ll be in touch,” he says instead, and she nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not exactly sure if there'll be a schedule for this - probably not, since i'll just post these as i finish them. also no idea when the rest of the series will be written so that this actually makes sense aldkfjalfkja


	2. cortez (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm probably going to go back and rewrite the first chapter at some point just to tidy it up a bit, but i have no idea when that will be and i hate rereading my own work so we're just gonna keep going for now. i always thought that celia and steve would get along well, or, at least, that they would relate to each other since they end up going through very similar things. at any rate, this definitely won't be his only chapter
> 
> also something i didn't mention in the last note - this fic is named after a song by elsa & emilie, the last song on celia and thane's ship playlist. i highly recommend listening to it if you want to be Extra Sad -bel

After he dropped Shepard and her team off outside C-Sec, Steve had trouble forcing the shuttle back to the Normandy. It felt—wrong, somehow, to leave her there, even though he knows she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, and besides, Garrus and Liara had been with her. The sinking feeling had only intensified when they docked, and he paced the cargo bay in frustration for lack of anything else to do. Normally, he wouldn’t have had any trouble keeping calm, but this was Cerberus attacking the Citadel, and they should all be down there helping to defend it. At the same time, he understands the need to have the crew ready to go, and so he paces, and keeps his complaints and his worry to himself, though he’s certain that Vega knows something is wrong. Is feeling the same, probably. Steve knows he and Shepard are close.

“She’ll be fine,” Vega says once, looking up from where he’s been cleaning the same gun piece for nearly twenty minutes. “You’ve seen her fight, Cerberus won’t be able to touch her. She wouldn’t want you to worry about her, either.”

“I know,” he replies, but he still can’t shake the feeling that something is _wrong_ , so he leaves the cargo bay for the CIC, takes his pacing to the hallway outside the cockpit. He can hear voices coming through the comms, but he’s too far away to make out what they’re saying, and if he’s being honest with himself, he’s afraid to find out.

He’s not _afraid_ for her, though. Not until Liara comes back to the ship alone.

Steve is the first one to see her exit the airlock, but not the first one to speak. No, that’s Joker, who spins around and his chair and says “What’s going on? I’ve been trying to reach you but nobody’s answering. And where the _fuck_ are Garrus and CJ?”

He and Liara have only spoken a few times, but to him she’s always come off as—collected. Confident, but not in the cold way that Shepard so often is. Now, though, she looks unsure, afraid. Not a good sign. “She’s probably at Huerta by now.”

For a moment, the silence is so thick and oppressive that his own breathing feels uncomfortably loud. Joker looks just as surprised as he feels, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before his eyes narrow, and he says “You’re awfully calm for someone who just told us Shepard is—oh.” Steve is close enough that he can see Joker’s fingers tighten on the arm of the chair. “ _Shit_.”

Liara doesn’t smile, exactly, but her mouth tilts up a little, and she nods, barely even sparing him a glance as she steps into the cockpit and the doors hiss shut behind her. Now that he’s alone, the walls feel too close, and he hits the button for the airlock because the thought of going back down to the bottom of the ship is too much. He remembers the last time he talked to Shepard about anything outside of a mission, remembers her ordering him to get off the ship next time they’re at the Citadel. Somehow, he doesn’t think this is what she meant, but he can’t stay here another second. Watching the ships is beginning to sound more and more appealing.

The attack doesn’t seem to have made it as far as this docking bay, and he supposes he’s grateful for that, though as he takes up a position at the railing he can see the damage if he looks closely enough. Plumes of smoke rising from a few nearby spots on other arms—more widespread than he’d thought it would be. But he can put it aside if he tries, focus on the flight paths of the ships that are only just now being allowed to dock, since C-Sec is back under control. Garrus walks by at one point, carrying Shepard’s armor and her sniper rifle, and when Steve asks if he knows where Shepard is, or when she’ll be back, he just shakes his head. “I wouldn’t count on it being anytime soon, though,” he adds before he disappears through the doors, and his stomach drops.

He’s surprised, then, when only a few minutes later he turns to go back to the ship, and she’s standing a few feet away.

She raises her eyebrow when she meets his gaze, and he wonders if his surprise is that obvious, or if she’s just being herself. “You picked a hell of a time for shore leave,” she says, and she sounds _exhausted_. Looks it, too, and maybe it’s just the lack of armor and the way her hair is tied back but she seems—smaller, somehow, her shoulders weighed down.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he tells her honestly, and watches as her brow creases in confusion. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise to her that he would want to reciprocate the care she’d shown him the few times she’d visited the cargo bay. Steve knows of her reputation for ruthlessness; at this point he thinks he’d be hard-pressed to find a person in the galaxy that doesn’t. But she’d softened a bit, after he told her about Robert. Surprised him with her understanding, though she’d said nothing about her sudden change in attitude, and she doesn’t say anything now, just nods absently and turns back to the window. She’s chewing on her lip, something he’s _known_ she does just from hearing others talk about it but has never _seen_ , and it sets off another alarm in him. If she’s letting him see her like this, something is _wrong_.

“Shepard?” he asks, quiet like he’s trying not to startle her, and she blinks and turns back towards him, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t want to rush you, but everyone else is back on the ship.”

The words feel wrong leaving his mouth, but she seems to latch onto them, pushing her hair back and letting her lip slip from between her teeth. “Right. The ship,” she says, and turns away. He follows close behind her, and though he knows there are people staring, none of them are brave enough. _Maybe that reputation is good for something after all._

It isn’t long, though, before they’re stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kaidan next, mayhaps?
> 
> (there's no mayhaps that's what's happening)


	3. kaidan (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celia romanced kaidan in me1 and it didn't go well even before she died, so there's a lot of tension between them and i just wanted to mention it since i don't know how well it shows up here? like the post-romantic tension is kind of shoved to the side in favor of post-coup tension and whatever the fuck celia is feeling aldkfjalkfja -bel

Kaidan isn’t sure what he expected when he decided to wait at the docking bay, hoping that maybe he’ll be able to catch Celia before the ship departs for wherever it is they’re going, but the sight of her as she’s leaned up against the railing, staring out at the arms of the Citadel and the void beyond them, isn’t it. She listens to him when he talks, responds like the Shepard he’s always known, but there’s something vacant about her eyes, though every line of her body is tense, like she’s ready to run—or to fight him, more like. He’s still riding the high of his own adrenaline spike, surprised, somehow, that she didn’t just shoot him outright to get to Udina. He knows she was thinking about it, and she all but confirms it when he brings it up again. The words are distracted, though. A little off—and as a result, when he mentions his desire to join the Normandy’s crew again, the sudden focus with which she looks back at him is enough to be intimidating.

He’s heard some of the others talk about how she’s changed since Cerberus brought her back. He doesn’t really think he’s been around her long enough to say. Arguments in the middle of battles aren’t enough to make up for the nearly three years they’ve lost. Before now, he couldn’t help but wonder whether or not any of the people who say she’s different know ever really _knew_ her before; he’s not confident enough to say that he did, either, but his relationship with her was—different. Heading towards something, maybe. But she looks at him like he’s a stranger now, and in a way, he supposes that’s what they are. Strangers. And he’s a stranger who just asked, apropos of nothing, to join her crew.

She locks eyes with him for so long that it takes all he has not to pull his gaze away, but doesn’t speak, not at first. Celia has always been difficult for him to read, had been even before her death, and now she’s near impossible, the red flash in her eyes blocking out anything he might have been able to gain from her expression. “Awfully bold considering the conversation we had on Mars,” she finally says, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back against the railing. With the lights of the Citadel behind her, she looks—unreal. To him, maybe she still is.

“I know.” He’s not about to start that argument again, but he can tell by the slight quirk of her eyebrow that she’d been expecting him to. It wouldn’t be out of place, given everything that’s just happened, but he’ll get farther with her if he doesn’t, and she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to entertain him. “But I feel like I’ll be doing the most good out there with you. Getting things done.”

The words are eerily similar to what he said to her when she asked him, back on the original Normandy, why he’d wanted to stay on after Saren. Oh, there were the obvious reasons, of course, but despite their rocky start he’d come to appreciate the no-nonsense way of things. Even during the worst of it, he’d never seen Celia panic, and that’s what he—what the galaxy—needs right now. Someone who won’t panic. But there’s still a trace of that vacant look on her face, and an uneasy feeling settles in his chest, making its home there.

Celia sighs, and her eyes flick briefly towards the door that would lead them back out to the docking bay. “How long will it take you to get your things?”

“I—” He’s hesitant, at first, to take the implied invitation for what it is, but she’s staring at him so expectantly that he can’t decline. Not that he would want to, anyway. “Not long. An hour, at most.”

She nods to herself. There’s blood beading on her lower lip, and he thinks to tell her about it, but if he so much as insinuates that she looks like shit—even if she does—it could set off another argument, and he doesn’t have the time or energy for that. “I won’t pretend that we couldn’t use you on board. We need all the capable fighters that we can get. Having the only two human Spectres on board could be an advantage.” There’s derision dripping from her tone, and he thinks of the standoff at the elevators, of the bullet she’d put in Udina’s head without a second’s hesitation, of her staring down the turian councilor when he’d brought up Cerberus. He’s seen her angry plenty of times—Garrus had joked, once, that it’s her default state—but not like this. Nothing like this.

“Let me make one thing clear, though,” she says, straightening up and letting her arms drop to her sides. She looks more intimidating in civilian clothes, somehow—it doesn’t belong, and it throws him off. The fact that he’s more than half a foot taller than her doesn’t matter, nor does the fact that he’s still armed and she isn’t. She’s at her most dangerous like this. “The talk about me working with Cerberus? It stops. I don’t want to hear a single word about it.” She has to tilt her head back a little to look at him when they’re this close, nearly sharing the same air, and all it does is emphasize how gaunt she is, how the scars that cut through her skin glow when the light hits them. They’d only been thin hairline fractures in her skin on Horizon, easy to ignore, but now it’s difficult to look at them without remembering what they mean. “I would _never_ go back to them. Never work with them again. I’d rather they kill me for good.”

There’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there when they talked about this on Mars. Something else to add to the list of things he knows he shouldn’t ask her about. He nods instead. “After that, I—really don’t think you would.”

The last thing he’s expecting is the sound that escapes her, so close to a laugh that at first he isn’t sure he’s heard it right at all, but the corner of her mouth is tilted up, though she looks just as serious as she had when he walked in. “Then welcome aboard, Major. Go get your things and I’ll see you on the ship. I’ve got something to take care of first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure about the pov for the next chapter since the next two could theoretically go in any order, so i guess it's a surprise lmao


	4. aria (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first time i played me3 with all of the dlc installed, i did omega and then leviathan right after priority: citadel ii, and that ended up working its way into my canon as 'the order in which celia does things.' now instead of just running away from her grief metaphorically, she can do it physically too!!
> 
> not much to say about omega, but i did want to write this chapter because i wanted to explore her reactions from the pov of someone who doesn't necessarily know her well, and isn't part of her crew. i like the idea of even those people who are on the outside of her circles, so to speak, being able to tell something is off, which doesn't really happen for the rest of the trilogy, even after other deaths. this was also written as part of febuwhump; the prompt for day 5 was 'take me instead,' which i altered a little to better fit the scene (there are plenty of ways i could've worked it in, but i wanted to try and stick with my original plan for this chapter lol) -bel

The attack on the Citadel has thrown a wrench in Aria’s plans. Security is already doubling down, and though she shouldn’t have any problems leaving, getting back in, if things go wrong on Omega, will take some doing—and that’s if they’re able to get to Omega at all. The inaction is making her impatient, antsy. She’d messaged Shepard days ago, before the coup, and hasn’t gotten a response yet, though that doesn’t worry her. Shepard hadn’t replied to her first message either, just showed up at Purgatory like nothing had happened. If she actually wants the Commander’s help, though, she has a feeling her time is running out. Soon enough, Shepard will be off to save the galaxy—or whatever it is she does—and Omega will once again be Aria’s problem and no one else’s.

She’s close to saying “fuck it” and leaving on her own—has the car ready and everything—when the door to the docking bay opens and it’s Bray, followed closely by Shepard. She looks like shit, shadows under her eyes, blood beading on her lips, hair messily pulled back and dressed in civilian clothes. Aria knows better than to say anything, and it doesn’t matter anyway, so she lets Shepard into the car beside her and they take a drive.

“No Reapers anywhere that need fighting?” she asks, just to see what Shepard will do. She’s hoping for some of the fighting spirit that was present when she first arrived in the Afterlife nearly a year ago, but it’s nowhere to be found; she just looks tired.

“There are,” she says, and her hands are resting lightly on her thighs, though when Aria focuses a bit more she can see where Shepard’s nails dig into the fabric of her pants. “But I want you to take me to Omega instead.”

~

When she sees Shepard in action on Omega, Aria almost feels ridiculous for even being worried about it at all. They’d had to provide her with weapons and armor—“I can’t go back to the Normandy,” she’d said, and refused to explain why—but she uses the rifle as if she’s had it for years, and the ferocity with which she takes down Cerberus soldiers is unmatched even by Aria herself. By the time Petrovsky calls for a surrender, Omega is littered with bodies, most of them Cerberus. Shepard’s face is spattered with blood, broken up only by the orange glow of her visor, and her bun has loosened, leaving strands to fall around her face. She looks—enraged. Exactly what Aria had wanted from her.

Petrovsky tries to bargain with Shepard. Offers up information on the Illusive Man, but he’s barely got the words out when Aria’s hands are around his throat, pressing down. “But…this is…murder,” he gasps, barely able to get a breath in between words.

“That’s right. Cold-blooded murder. No less than you deserve.”

Part of her wonders if Shepard will try to stop her from killing him at all, let alone the painful way she plans to. If his offer of information will sway her. She’s ready to negotiate, if need be, though she doesn’t love the idea, but Shepard only locks eyes with her for a moment, face expressionless. She turns her gaze to Petrovsky, of Aria’s fingers pressed into his throat—and then she walks away.

She thanks Shepard later, after Petrovsky is dead. “Killing that man was deeply satisfying,” she says, and watches as Shepard leans against the railing overlooking the rest of the Afterlife, staring at the crowd that is beginning to gather below them.

“The more Cerberus fucks are dead, the better.” Her voice is as emotionless as her face, and though Aria is no stranger to Shepard’s particular brand of ruthlessness, this feels wrong. Different. She doesn’t mention the kiss that took place only moments before, even though Aria had seen her expression afterwards, a brief flash of pain.

“What did they take from you?”

She doesn’t look surprised, but Aria watches her tense up, her grip on the railing tightening. After a second, she pushes herself upright. They’ve already discussed getting her back to the Citadel, to her ship and her crew, though it seems—surprisingly—like she’s reluctant to go. “A better question would be what they didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this definitely needs some editing but since it was part of an event and i'm more focused on 'writing something every day' versus making it perfect it's fine skdklsdklskldssdkl
> 
> up next.....i don't know? the next couple chapters might be leviathan, or i might make that a separate fic and come back to it later. not sure about pov either, so we'll all be surprised lmao


	5. cristopher (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since i'm posting these out of order, just a quick introduction - cristopher is celia's younger brother, but they don't have a good relationship at all; she has the earthborn background and was given up at birth because of her parents' situation, but cristopher wasn't, and that leads to a lot of resentment on her part. still, he's a capable soldier, and she'll take all the help she can get, hence his joining the crew. this is another chapter for febuwhump; the prompt was "i'm sorry, i didn't know" -bel

Through some stroke of luck, Cristopher manages to avoid the worst of the fighting on the Citadel. In fact, he doesn’t see the fighting at all. The aftermath of it, though, is everywhere; in the reluctance of civilians to leave their apartments, in the wreckage and shattered glass scattered throughout the presidium. It lights a fire in him that wasn’t there before. He hadn’t originally been happy about the idea of staying on the Citadel, but _someone_ had to, in case the worst came to pass, and now it has—and he can’t bear the thought of staying put a moment longer. Most of his Alliance contacts are tied up in defending Earth, however, and he can only think of one other person he knows will take him on.

In less than a day he’s packed, bags slung over his shoulders as he navigates the crowded docking bays. More and more people are trying to leave after what just happened, even though there’s nowhere to go—ironically, he thinks, this is probably the safest place they could be right now. It isn’t hard to find out where the Normandy is docked; all he has to do is ask a couple of strangers, and he’s pointed in the right direction. He can’t board without permission, though, so for a while he’s forced to wait, leaning against the railing by the window and staring out at the Citadel’s open arms. From this distance, it almost looks as though nothing is wrong, that this day is the same as any other. He knows better. He’s looked too closely.

After nearly half an hour of waiting, he finally gets his chance: the turian who had accompanied Celia to dinner—Garrus, Cris thinks his name is—is heading towards the ship, and it only takes a tap on the shoulder for him to stop and turn around. He’s tense, understandably so, but when he sees Cris his expression turns to one of confusion. It’s hard to tell, but Cris thinks he’s squinting. “You’re Celia’s brother, right? Did she send you?”

Cris shakes his head. “I came on my own. Hoped there might be room on the ship for one more.”

Garrus doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at him, eyes going from his face to his packed bags and back again. Eventually he turns, motions for Cris to follow him onto the ship. If not for his sister, he would say he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a silence this tense, but the near-painful awkwardness of his appearance at her wedding reception is enough to make him cringe. Once they’re through the airlock, he trails Garrus up through the open cockpit door. “Joker,” Garrus says. “We’ve got a visitor.”

“Finally.” The chair starts to turn around, and Cris can only stand there—how could they have known he was coming? “Do you have any idea how many times we’ve tried to—oh.” Joker looks even more confused than Garrus, if that’s even possible. It’s a fight not to fidget uncomfortably under his stare. “You’re not CJ.”

“Technically, I am,” he says, and immediately regrets it when all it does is increase the tension in the room tenfold. He clears his throat, adjusts one of the bags on his shoulder in what he hopes is a natural-looking gesture. “I am looking for Celia, actually.”

Joker rolls his eyes. “That makes two of us. We haven’t heard from her since—”

He’s interrupted by Garrus clearing his throat, and Joker, once he cuts off, looks almost—embarrassed? Ashamed? “Right. She’s been gone since the coup. We know she’s out there, just not where, and none of us have been able to reach her.”

“No one?” He finds that difficult to believe, and he’s sure the incredulity comes through in his voice. Celia has been a lot of things to him, and even more to others, but he was never under the impression that irresponsible is one of them. “Not even Thane?”

Garrus and Joker exchange loaded glances, like they’re each trying to get the other to say something. It’s Garrus who finally turns to him and answers the question. “Thane is…he was killed during the coup. That’s why we’re worried.”

Killed. Cris immediately feels guilty for asking. It’s true that he doesn’t know his sister all that well, but anyone who saw her at the reception would have been able to tell how deeply in love she and Thane were. To have that ripped away, and by an organization she used to be allied with, no less… “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, we shouldn’t be the ones you’re saying that to.” Joker sighs, shaking his head. “Listen, you’re more than welcome to wait on the ship until she comes back from wherever the fuck she is, but I don’t know what’s going to happen after that. I can’t guarantee she’ll want to see you right now.”

Cristopher nods, glancing back and forth between them. Celia isn’t even here, and already he feels like an intruder on her grief. “Is there anything I can help with until then?” he asks, not wanting to be a burden on the ship’s running. Joker is already turning back to the control panel, but Garrus looks at him and nods.

“I’ll take you to the XO. I’m sure she can find something for you to do.” Once again, Cristopher turns to follow him, this time towards the elevator at the other end of the deck. “A word of advice, though—when she does get back, I wouldn’t bring this up at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next, a celia chapter!! i originally wasn't going to put any in here - the focus was supposed to be on other people watching her react to thane's death - but one of the prompts inspired me, so there will probably be a couple more over the course of this story


	6. cecelia (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the prompt that made me want to put celia chapters in here was 'hallucinations;' originally i was thinking of the bit at the end of the citadel dlc where a romanced shep kind of talks to thane's ghost, but since that would take a lot of writing to get to i'm going to put it here instead. it kind of works out anyway, because it sets a precedence for this happening again later lmao -bel

It’s easy for Celia not to think about it when she’s fighting. In the heat of battle, she doesn’t think about anything at all; she acts on instinct, especially now, on Omega, when she doesn’t have anyone to give orders to. She and Aria work seamlessly together, much as she hates to admit it, and it’s—effortless, in a sense, to slaughter her way through wave after wave of Cerberus shock troops. Therapeutic, even. This is the closest she comes to acknowledging what happened on the Citadel: one way or another, the Illusive Man and his cronies are going to pay.

When the last of the soldiers falls, though, and she watches Aria kill Petrovsky without truly registering the act, the dread starts to creep in. It’s slow, at first; she sees a flash of green out of the corner of her eye when there’s nothing but the red-orange lights of the Afterlife, she feels the ghost of a breath on the back of her neck even though it’s covered by her armor, helmet firmly in place. The memories of her time with Cerberus, with—she doesn’t even want to think his name; even skirting close to it strikes up a pain unlike anything she’s known—are all too fresh in her mind, and more than once she has to bite her tongue to hold back orders to no one, to stop from making a remark through her comms that only one person would appreciate.

She doesn’t know what’s worse: feeling him there, or knowing he’s gone.

The hallucinations don’t stop when she leaves Omega, either; no matter how she tries to tune them out, there’s always something, hovering in the corner of her vision, barely audible to her ears. She boards the Normandy to the news that her brother has arrived, all but begged to come with them, and she’s too tired to do anything but agree, to shoo Liara away when she tries to inquire about where, exactly, Celia has been. They set a course for the Perseus Veil, and she sequesters herself in her cabin, unwilling to let even Garrus or Joker in. They’ll only ask how she’s doing, only remind her of the grief she is trying so desperately to outrun.

It’s worse that first night alone, when she wakes gasping and sweaty and nauseous from a dream about him and swears that she can feel him there, behind where she’s laying on her side, his arm slung across her stomach. When she reaches her own hand down, she’s certain it’s his scales that slide under her fingers and not her own skin. A few minutes of consciousness is all it takes to clear her mind, though, and then she’s left gasping for a different reason, trying to hold back the tears that sting her eyes. She stumbles her way into the bathroom, throws up what little she’d been able to force down of the food she took from the mess, and curls up on the shower floor, setting the water to scalding so it burns where it touches her skin and positioning herself directly under the spray. It stings when it gets in her face, leaves red trails alongside the scars that are already there, and much as she might pretend, it doesn’t really help at all.

She starts sleeping on the couch after that, where there’s only room for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next....not sure. garrus or joker, probably, or maybe james or liara - one of the people closer to her, since so far it's mostly been Way-Outside povs. i really want to get a couple more chapters in for febuwhump, so hopefully this happens soon!


	7. james (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another febuwhump chapter from james' pov, this time for the prompt 'hiding an injury!' (i doubt the notes on these ones will be very long lmao, i'm writing a lot of these in a very short time) -bel

They stop once on the way to the Perseus Veil, to disable the defenses of a Cerberus base on Noveria at Hackett’s request. She doesn’t take James with her, but he doesn’t have any problem with that—her two top choices for this, apparently, are Kaidan and her brother, both of which surprise him. She’d confessed to him once, while he was guarding her, that she didn’t get along with her family, and though he’s never been explicitly told what the issues between her and Kaidan are, he can guess well enough. When he asks her about it before she boards the shuttle, quiet enough that no one else will hear, she tells him it’s because they’re new to the ship, relatively speaking, and she’s unwilling to test their combat skills on a more important mission.

He thinks she just wants to kill more Cerberus troops and she’s using that as an excuse, but he keeps that thought to himself.

When they return a couple of hours later, he can hear them arguing the second the shuttle doors open. Kaidan is out first, and he gives James an exasperated look before he heads to the gear lockers and begins to pull off the outer pieces of his armor. Cristopher, apparently, doesn’t have the good sense to just back down from the fight. Maybe he thinks the fact that they’re related will make Celia go lighter on him, but James doubts that. No, he just wants to get someone else on his side, and when they’re both out of the shuttle, Celia last and holding her rifle close to her side, he happens to be the first person they see.

“Can you please tell my sister that she needs to go to the medbay to get her arm looked at?” he snaps, pulling his helmet off and shaking his head. Celia stares daggers at him through the orange tint of her still-activated visor, but she doesn’t move to shed her armor and weapons like the other two. Curious.

James turns to her. “ _Do_ you need to get your arm looked at, Lola?”

In his periphery, he sees Cristopher raise an eyebrow at the nickname, but he stays blessedly quiet while they wait for her response. “No,” she says. Doesn’t move. Instead they stare at each other, a silent challenge, ignoring the cargo bay’s other occupants. After a moment, to his surprise, she relents. “Maybe. But he” —she points in her brother’s direction— “needs to learn how to follow orders. I told him not to worry about it and to focus on the Cerberus troops _actively trying to kill us_ , but he insisted on trying to patch the wound anyway.”

He thinks it’s the most he’s heard her say at once since the coup—not that he would ever tell her this, or that he’s seen her much at all. According to some of the others, she floats around the ship like a ghost, spends most of their travel time either locked in her quarters or cleaning her weapons and armor with a fervor bordering on obsession. When he asks about it, trying to gauge just how bad it was if it makes her act like this, people clam up, don’t meet his eyes. Joker had looked at him like he should already know, which only made him more confused.

“Fine. Maybe it doesn’t need looked at,” Cristopher snaps. James has only known him a few days, but he’d never expected to see him this angry; he’d gotten the impression that kind of thing was reserved for Celia. “But that’s not the point. The point is that you shouldn’t lie to your crew.”

Celia freezes. She had been looking at James the whole time, but now her gaze is fixed on her brother, eyes narrowed. For a minute, she doesn’t say anything, only watches as Cristopher continues to shed his armor, unbothered. Kaidan, halfway across the cargo bay, is obviously listening in, but James doesn’t think she’s even aware of him, or of Steve on the other side of the shuttle. Cristopher is down to the suit he wore under the armor and is already turned towards the elevator when she speaks. “Who told you?”

Her voice is only just loud enough to carry, and Cristopher—he doesn’t back down, not exactly, but his own voice is softer when he replies. “Joker did,” he says. “When I first got here.”

Her dark-painted lips thin, and she nods. James feels more and more like he’s intruding, but leaving now would only draw more attention to himself. Glancing over at the elevator tells him Kaidan feels much the same, as he waits with his hand hovering over the button, unwilling to interrupt whatever is going on. Celia sighs. “I’ll get it looked at once the reports are filed.”

It’s clearly not what he’d been hoping for, but everyone in the room seems to know that it’s the most any of them will get out of her. Cristopher makes as though he’s going to step forward, appears to think better of it, and turns to join Kaidan in the elevator. James waits until they’re both long gone and Celia is in the middle of finally removing her armor to say something. “Not gonna make you tell me if you don’t want to, but— _what_ was that about?”

She doesn’t look over at him, just keeps putting her armor away, and he can see now how she holds her right arm a bit awkwardly, like she’s trying to keep it in a less-painful position. When she’s done with that, all her gear stowed away, she raises her left hand in his direction. _Oh_.

“Shit.”

She laughs, a humorless thing. “Yeah,” she says. “That’s one way of putting it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next will either be garrus or another kaidan - one will make use of an alt prompt, so it just depends which day i want to switch out!


	8. joker (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is going a little faster than i'd anticipated plot-wise, so i'm thinking it'll probably be less than 20 chapters when it's done? that's not to say i won't go back and edit or add more lmao, but since i made the decision to use as many febuwhump prompts as possible to make progress on this, it's given me a bit more structure for the later parts so now i actually know where we're going
> 
> this is going to be the first of at least two or three joker chapters, since he's the closest to her, so it's a bit shorter, but only because the other ones are going to have So Much in them -bel

Joker doesn’t see her one-on-one until they’re already on their way to Rannoch, and it’s that more than anything else that worries him. When they’d been working for Cerberus, she spent more time sitting with him in the cockpit than anyone else, and now…combined with the fact that she’d left for Omega without even telling anyone where she’d gone, he’s convinced she’s taking Thane’s death harder than he anticipated. Saying it to her face would be a bad idea, and it’d make him sound like an asshole, but: she’s had more time to prepare for this than most people get. It wouldn’t change the fact that it had happened suddenly, in an unexpected way, and he knows that. Still, he’s concerned for her. Sometimes he feels like he’s the only one who is.

Yeah, there are Reapers out there, and as far as he’s concerned, she’s the only one competent enough to stop them. There’s not exactly a lot of time for anyone to wallow in grief right now, especially not the Savior of the Citadel. But it’s hard to bring himself to care about much else when he just _knows_ she’s up in her fucking cabin having a breakdown and not _talking_ to anyone about it. When she finally shows up, late in the Normandy’s night cycle, he thinks maybe she’ll be open with him—as open as she can be, anyway.

She curls up in the empty seat beside him, damp hair loose, dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. To the untrained eye, it’s how she normally looks on the ship when they don’t have anywhere to be, or are in between destinations. But he can tell she hasn’t been sleeping by the shadows under her eyes; her nail polish is chipped, the skin of her lips broken and red. “You look like shit,” he says, and she laughs.

“So I’ve heard.” She pushes her hair back, doesn’t look at him even though he’s almost fully turned his chair in her direction. “I came to check on you. EDI told me she doesn’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep.”

He can’t stop the incredulous laugh from slipping out—of course that’s why she’s here. He feels stupid, for a second, for thinking that she would even want to bring it up. “You know you two are the only ones apparently concerned about me, right? Most of the crew is waiting for you to snap at any moment.”

Had it been anyone else telling her this, the moment might’ve been now. Still, it doesn’t stop her eyes from narrowing when she faces him. She doesn’t rise to the bait, though, only examines him for a moment and then turns back. “That’s got nothing to do with this. I’m serious, Joker, if we’ve got a sleep-deprived pilot—”

“You’re one to talk.” He drags his hand across his face. “You look like you haven’t slept since we left Earth. For all I know, it might be true. Did Cerberus give you a sleep switch or something? I don’t think I’ve seen you in your cabin for more than a couple hours at a time until—”

“Stop.” They’re treading dangerous territory now, floating over deep water. He resists the urge to push her until she breaks, just because he knows it’s the only way she will. She can’t just ignore this forever, and even though he doesn’t want to see her hurt—she can’t hold this grief in her forever. Won’t be able to shove it away like she does with everything else.

“No.”

She stands so quickly and quietly it takes him a few seconds to realize she’s walking away, and when he does, a pit forms in his stomach, and he starts to turn his chair. “CJ,” he yells, “please come back,” but all he can do is watch her stride towards the elevator, knowing he won’t be able to catch up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone: hey celia you should maybe talk about this  
> celia: ok but what if i didn't
> 
> once again, either a kaidan or a garrus chapter next - i really like the idea of doing a kaidan one just because the prompt is 'sleep deprivation' and the concept of doing a direct callback to persona non grata just seems right, but there hasn't been as much garrus as i wanted there to be, so maybe i won't do that after all and i'll save it for later somehow


	9. kaidan (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah turns out the idea of 'directly referencing a previous fic and using this specific character to do so' was too narratively juicy for me to pass up so here we are...someday there will be a garrus chapter lmao -bel

Kaidan has taken to wandering the crew deck at night, just because it’s the only way he feels he can get any peace. Sometimes Cristopher stays up with him—they’ve been spending a lot of time talking as of late, and Kaidan finds he’s a lot easier to talk to than his sister. Other times, though, he wants to be alone, and he’s alone now, nursing a cup of tea in the observation deck and thinking about how much time they’re going to have to spend on Rannoch, a prospect that sounds more daunting with each passing day. Celia had taken Liara and Garrus down to the planet’s surface with Legion the previous day, and he’s not quite sure what happened, only that she seemed annoyed about it. When he’d tried to make a joke about how annoyed seems to be Celia’s default state, no one had laughed, not even Garrus, who normally wouldn’t have any problem poking fun at her. He’s quickly nearing the point where he wants to demand that someone explain to him what’s going on, because the way everyone skirts around it is ridiculous.

When the door to the observation deck hisses open and it’s Celia standing there, he thinks he might not have to ask anyone else.

She looks surprised to see him there, and he wonders how often she creeps down here when everyone else—even him—is asleep. “I—sorry,” she says, brow furrowed, and starts to leave.

“Wait,” he calls, a bit too loudly for the time, and they both wince at how it shatters the silence. “You don’t have to go. I feel like I’ve barely seen you since I’ve got here.”

She gives him a tight smile and sits down on the floor a couple of feet away from him, legs drawn up to her chest. It’s an uncharacteristically vulnerable pose for her, even around him. “You aren’t the only one, apparently,” she jokes, though it feels forced. “Joker practically interrogated me when I tried to talk to him earlier.”

Unsurprising. He’s heard enough of how they talk to each other to know that Joker would have none of the delicacy he himself might prefer when broaching more difficult topics with Celia—he would be blunt, and she would answer in kind. What does intrigue him is how that approach seems to no longer be working. Maybe best to change the subject for now. Talk about less important things, though she’ll almost surely see right through him. “Do you come here often?” She raises an eyebrow, and he winces at his poor choice of words. “This room, I mean. I’m here most nights, and I never see anyone else.”

“No.” She wraps her arms around her legs, rests her chin on her knees. She looks tired, but then again, she always looks tired lately. “I haven’t been down here much except to get food, and—” A pause as she chews on her lip, a nervous habit she apparently hasn’t been able to kick. “I’m in Life Support, sometimes. Alone, like you said.”

“Hmm.” He takes a sip of his tea, halfway to being cold by now, and doesn’t say anything else about it. The words aren’t a challenge by any means, but it’s clear he’s already hit on a sensitive subject—but isn’t this the exact type of beating around the bush he’s been trying to avoid? He’s going to have to bite the bullet sooner or later; he’s already finding it difficult enough to work with her as it is. “Celia, can I ask you something?”

She sighs, tightens the grip of her arms. The N7 hoodie has always been big on her, but now, with the sleeves covering all but the tips of her fingers, it only emphasizes how small she is—how small she’s become since the invasion of earth. “I knew you’d bring it up eventually,” she says, and it looks like he won’t have to ask after all. “Might as well be now.”

The obvious dread in her voice makes him regret broaching the subject at all. “I mean, you don’t have to—”

“I know. But I should.” She’s back to chewing on her lip again, and again he doesn’t press her, not when she’s shown a willingness to talk. It’s a few minutes before she speaks again, and by that time his tea is nearly gone. “There was someone in Huerta at the same time as you. A drell. I think you met.”

“Yeah, we talked a couple of times.” And—he hadn’t made the connection until now, and he feels ridiculous for not putting two and two together sooner. “He was with you on Horizon. With you and Garrus.”

She nods, the hint of a smile playing at the edge of her mouth. It’s gone within a few seconds. “He—I—” She clears her throat. He thinks he knows what’s coming next, but it’s still a shock to hear her say it. “We were married.”

“Oh.” God, he feels so stupid. He’d been talking to the drell about Celia, and he probably knew it the entire time, knew who Kaidan was. Must have known about his failed relationship with Celia. As he’s dwelling on that, though, something else hits him. “Wait—was?”

Another deep breath. “He was killed during the coup. By a Cerberus assassin.”

“Shit,” he breathes. An image pops into his head, suddenly: Celia pointing a gun at him, her hand shaking; Celia glaring daggers at the Turian councilor who had the nerve to insinuate she might still be working with Cerberus. It makes too much sense. “I—fuck, Celia, who else knows about this?”

“At this point? Probably everyone else on the ship.” She grins a little. “I’m a bit surprised someone didn’t tell you, but I just…wanted you to hear it from me. Even if you already knew.”

He wants to shift closer to her. To wrap his arms around her even though he knows she would resist it. “I’m sorry,” he says instead, and it’s not enough. For something like this, it could never be. He remembers all too well how he’d felt after she died; even though he knew their relationship was fated to end, it had still hurt more than anything else.

Celia huffs out a laugh, and her posture relaxes the slightest bit. The sleeve of her hoodie slips up enough for him to see the ring—small, understated. He’d clearly known her well. “You might be the first person who’s actually said that to me.”

When he looks over at her, her mouth is quirked up, and he returns the smile without hesitating. He had been worried about how this would work; they were butting heads on Mars, again during the coup, but for the first time since he rejoined the crew, he starts to think they might be able to make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i love persona non grata so much. it might end up being my favorite thing i've written for this event. not to self-promote but like pls read it lmao
> 
> the next prompt is 'betrayal' and we've got a good joker chapter coming up - one of the first scenes i had in mind when i started this fic...


	10. joker (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm. time for Pain i think -bel

Every time Joker thinks he’s seen the worst Celia has to offer—the most impulsive decisions, the most cutting words—she somehow manages to one-up herself. She’s been doing it for years, but this…this is beyond what even he could imagine. A Reaper. A fucking Reaper, all on her own, with nothing but the hope that the targeting system would work. And it did, but the victory isn’t enough to keep his blood from boiling.

It’s almost another full hour before he hears the alarm that indicates there are people in the airlock, and he’s got his chair turned around by the time they walk in—Celia and Tali and Garrus, looking surprisingly unscathed considering what they’ve just gone through, though he chalks that up more to the lack of blood than anything else. “CJ,” he says, voice so loud he’s almost yelling, and everyone in the hallway stops; unfortunately for both of them, that happens to be most of the crew. They’d all gathered near the map after the Reaper fell, waiting for her to come back, and ow they were potential witnesses to what will probably become the biggest argument they’ve ever had. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

“What did it look like?” She reaches up and pulls her visor off her head, letting it dangle in her free hand instead. Her face is sweaty, though most of her makeup remains unscathed, and bits of hair stick to her forehead. “Another dead Reaper. One less to fight.”

“No, that was _you_ using yourself as fucking _Reaper_ bait!” It’s getting harder and harder to keep his voice, his words in check. He’s furious at her, of course, but underneath all that—fear, the coldest he’s ever known. It was bad enough to lose her once, to spend two years believing that her death had been his fault, to wake up every night from dreams of her last moments. He doesn’t think he can do it again.

He’s certain she can see some of that fear reflected in his face, because when she speaks again, it’s a little less defensive. “I know that’s probably what it looked like,” she says, “but it was the only way the plan would work. If it had been splitting its attention between four of us—”

“Oh, so that’s your excuse? It was part of the plan?” There’s enough of a bite in his voice that it must be obvious to the others by now; Traynor, in the background, has a hand over her mouth, and though he can’t read Garrus quite as easily, he’s certain there’s an expression on his face that says _quit while you’re ahead_. “I know you’ve been telling people all kinds of lies lately about your motives, but that might be the worst one yet.”

Celia scoffs, and he’s sure she would be crossing her arms if her hands weren’t already full—and now that he’s thinking about it, it might have been better to save this argument for a time when they had no audience and she had no rifle, but it’s too late to back down now. “Really? Well, since you apparently know them so well, what _are_ my motives, then?”

“ _Fuck_ , CJ, I don’t even know anymore!” He throws his hands up, lets them fall back onto the arms of his chair with a loud slap. “I thought it was to stop the Reapers—you know, like _everyone else on this ship wants_. Now I’m wondering if you don’t just have a fucking death wish.”

It’s so quiet in the hallway that he swears he can hear every breath she takes, even though there’s several feet between them. She stares at him for a moment with her lips slightly parted; he thinks it might be the first time he’s ever seen her truly speechless. Barely a few seconds later, though, it’s dissolved into a perfectly emotionless mask, her eyes hardened and her lips set in a thin line. She doesn’t speak—she doesn’t need to. “Shit,” he says, “I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did.” She sounds…sad. Not angry like he thought she’d be. When she turns towards the elevator, the small crowd they’ve amassed parts easily to let her through. He calls her name once—her real name, not the nickname no one else is allowed to use—but he knows this will end just like the last time they tried to talk, only now, he might have lost her for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: another short celia chapter before we get back into the plot lol


	11. cecelia (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok actually this might be more painful than the last one. it's only going to get worse from here on out slksjdlkjlk -bel

It gets harder for her to talk to people with every day that passes. She was never good at causal conversation, at small talk, but now it’s like bringing up anything other than their fight against the Reapers makes her brain go blank. It’s better, she supposes, than thinking about other things, though confronting her grief is almost beginning to sound preferable over the numbness that’s shrouded her the past couple of weeks. She can’t force herself to do it, though. It’s hard enough to get through the days with her mask intact, hard enough to run on the little sleep that she gets on the couch.

In the end, all it takes to crack her is the argument with Joker—in front of almost everyone, no less. It’s all she can think about on the way down to the cargo bay, as she removes and cleans her armor, disassembles her weapons and cleans those, too, until everything in her gear locker is near-spotless. James and Cortez come back down after a while, but neither of them try to talk to her, and she’s grateful for it. She only manages to hold herself together until the elevator doors slide shut in front of her, locked until she reaches her quarters, and she’s shaking, on her knees with one hand grasping the railing and the other pressed to her ribs. Even the idea of losing Joker too is—too much. She doesn’t think she could do it.

When the elevator stops, she barely manages to stumble into her quarters, and then through the sliding door into the bathroom. Her hands won’t stop trembling as she fumbles with the zipper on her undersuit, peels it off herself and reaches in the shower to turn it on. She doesn’t bother with removing her bra and panties, doesn’t bother to take off her makeup, just turns up the ventilators and steps under the scalding water, wincing when it hits her skin.

The hyperventilating leads to crying, to gasping sobs as she lowers herself down to the floor again, one hand pressed over her mouth as she screams. There’s water streaming across her face, dripping down and taking her makeup with it, and she doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter—how the fuck could she even think that anything else matters besides this gaping _emptiness_ inside her? And now one of the few people she thought she would be able to rely on through this whole thing doesn’t see her like he used to. Probably doesn’t think dealing with her grief is worth it.

By the time the water runs cold she’s curled up in the corner of the shower, head resting the darkness made by her arms wrapped tight around her legs. She’s already shaking so hard she barely notices the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> usually i feel really weird about posting anything less than 1k words, but there's something nice about these short chapters?? i like the challenge of being able to get what i want across with a small word count lol
> 
> next, another steve chapter! maybe after that we'll Finally see some fuckin garrus in this fic


	12. cortez (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i said this in the notes of the last steve chapter but uhhh i love Them...celia doesn't really lean on anyone but they're going through such similar things that it's hard for me to imagine they wouldn't at least talk about it at some point. this is another febuwhump one, prompt is 'don't look' -bel

After Rannoch, they go back to the Citadel—Shepard’s gotten some kind of message from Hackett that’s apparently urgent, and she’s given them all a day’s shore leave to rest and stock up. Steve spends most of it at the docking bays, as he had the last time they were here. The shuttle is in good shape thanks to the near-constant maintenance he does on it, and as for personal supplies…he can’t think of anything he needs, or cares enough to pick up. For months he’s been living out of a duffel bag, and he’s content with that. Besides, he feels better watching the ships arrive and depart than he does anywhere else. Now that the worst of the damage has been cleaned up, it’s strangely peaceful.

He sleeps on the ship for lack of anywhere else to go, and goes back out to the docking bays the next morning when there’s only an hour or two left before they depart, leaning on the railing and paying little mind to the crowds behind him. It’s not difficult—he’s had plenty of practice tuning things out—until he thinks he hears Shepard behind him, and glances over his shoulder. It is her, carrying a box and accompanied by a drell with bright turquoise scales. Steve has never seen him before, but he can guess well enough who he is from the look on Shepard’s face, drawn and carefully neutral.

“Steve,” she says when they reach him in a tone that matches her expression. “Don’t suppose you could help me carry this?” She motions to the box the other man is holding. Drell facial expressions are notoriously difficult to read, but Steve thinks he looks almost—relieved? Interesting. “It needs to be brought up to my quarters.”

“Sure thing.” He takes the box, which weighs more than he thought it would given its size, and as soon as it’s securely in his hands the other man is off, muttering something to Shepard about how he’ll be in contact with her later. She stares after him with something bordering on sadness for a moment, but as soon as it’s there, it vanishes from her face, and she turns towards the door that will lead them to the Normandy’s airlock.

“Was that him? The stepson?”

She doesn’t look as surprised as he thought she would at the question, merely sighs and adjusts her hold on the box. “Who told you?” she asks as she hits the button for the airlock with her elbow.

“James.” He remembers pestering him about it after the argument Shepard and Joker had outside the cockpit only a few days ago. He’d wanted to ask her about it personally, but she’s been a ghost since then, only appearing to gather food from the mess before she returned to her cabin. She’s been relaying instructions through EDI. He won’t admit it, but it’s a little terrifying. “I bugged him until he told me, though. Not his fault.”

She laughs a little. “I don’t mind. Really. I just—everyone wants me to talk about it.”

“I know.” When she glances over at him, he wonders if they’re both thinking the same thing: that they’re the only people on the ship who can truly understand what the other is going through. Come to think of it, she had been surprisingly sympathetic when he told her about what had happened at Ferris Fields. The last time they really talked about Robert was before the coup; it wouldn’t have come up then—but if what James told him is true, and she had known how likely it was that he would die… “You don’t have to. But if you want to…you know where I work.”

The hissing of the airlock stops her from responding for a moment, and he watches her bite her lip until the door begins to slide open. “Thanks,” she says quietly, then. He follows her down towards the elevator, but out of the corner of his eye, as he’s turning into the main corridor, he sees the pilot’s chair in the cockpit start to turn. He glances back, once, and Joker is watching, but he doesn’t say anything. They’re too far away for Steve to see his expression.

In the elevator, she leans in a corner against the join of two walls, and he’s the one who hits the button for her quarters. The silence isn’t comfortable, but it’s not strained, either; he wonders if things being out in the open has something to do with it. When they arrive and set the boxes down on her bed, he thinks that’s it, at first; it isn’t until he’s turning to leave that she calls his name again. He stops, turns around. “I—” She frowns. “This is what he left me. In his will.” The words hang heavy between them. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind…”

She fidgets with the flap of the box closest to her, bites her lip. “Sure,” he says. “If you want me to stay while you go through them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The smile of relief, though tight-lipped and short-lived, is a reassurance to herself, he thinks, as much as it is to him. “Good. I mean, that’s…good.”

He sits down on the bed with the boxes between them, putting his hand on one as he looks over to her. “Should I open them, or do you want to—?”

“No,” she blurts, then grins apologetically. “I mean—I’d rather you don’t look first. I just…would rather not do this alone.”

The first box, the one that Steve had been carrying, is mostly full of weapons, and as she pulls them out of their cases one by one, turning them over to examine them, her smile is genuine. She doesn’t talk, for the most part, except to occasionally murmur things to herself, a faint smile on her face the whole time. When she’s gone through everything, she pulls the second box over to her, and by that time he’s letting his gaze wander around the room, taking it in. It’s the first time he’s been here—as far as he’s aware, the only people who’ve been in her quarters for more than a passing conversation are Garrus and her late husband himself, though he wasn’t on the ship for the latter; it was yet another thing he’d heard about secondhand.

There’s a picture frame on the low table by the couch, turned towards the bed, and in it is what he assumes is a photo of the two of them; he can’t think of anyone else the drell would be, and it certainly isn’t the same one he just met not that long ago. They’re looking at each other, not the camera, smiles on both their faces—on Shepard’s, the kind of real smile he wouldn’t expect to see out of her at all, much less where anyone else could see it and take a picture of it. He wants to ask about it, now that he’s mostly certain she won’t get upset about it, but he’s interrupted by her—by a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and when he turns back to her she’s got one hand clasped over her mouth, something small clenched in the other.

She looks up at him, eyes dark and glossy with tears, and holds out her hand, uncurling her fingers so he can see what’s resting in her palm: an unassuming chain, and strung along it are a plain silver ring and an oblong silver charm—a tiny urn, he realizes a moment later, and before he’s even thinking about it his hand is on her knee, squeezing gently. She closes her fist over it again and hunches forward, another sob slipping out of her. For a few minutes, they’re quiet, only her unsteady breathing to fill the room. Eventually she inhales deeply and looks up at him. “How do you do it?” she says, her gaze wandering to the table behind him. “Just keep living like this?”

He smiles, a grin to match her own, and tightens his hand on her leg again. “I’ll let you know when I figure that one out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why are the steve chapters always so long lmao
> 
> next....a garrus chapter. after like thirty years of this fic


End file.
